the ocean man
he has long rusty rods for hair
that shield his eyes of
silver fog and superstition
scarred writhing fingers
riddled with Indian ink and ocean tar
oyster pearls on fiddled twine trace his suntanned shoulders
twenty-four count
stacked, framing a jade pendant in the center
suspended above his heart
unpolished
the shape of an open eye
no lashes to distort its vision, no eyelids to block its view
the flushed shells of porcelain crustaceans on the
white beach
the fine grains that carry his thick-soled feet
and the casings of chocolate colored coconuts
as gruff as his foaming gray beard, never once tamed
an asymmetric frame to his round face
smothered in dried mud and
a film of holy volcano oil